Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Final Chapter Thirty Four - Whisked to Chessu

Chapter Thirty Four

The days become countless... tedium, interspersed with intensely stimulating nightly intervals of assiduous cunnilingus. Oral servitude... for 322 a vicarious pleasure... just as the Empress’s castrates take such joy in extracting sperm from the impressively intact Emperor.

322 notes that his well worked form carries practically zero fat. The extensive exertion plus the fortified swill, apparently well formulated indeed, have brought noteworthy muscularity. Midori has stopped gauging the thickness of his layers of epidermis, satisfied to have molded her beast for maximum performance. This permits the conveyance of loads of ore limited only by the size of the cart, Miss Midori specifically instructing the burly women of the mine to fill the box to brimming.

The pile of excess script returned to Miss Midori’s shirt pocket after visiting the market is consistently large. Plus excess canisters of swill have been accumulated to assure 322 the beast can have sustenance should he be precluded from laboring... illness... injury... and of course the one day of respite when he would instead prefer to face the drudgery of the mine... the weekly visit of Nurse Wendy.

It could be psycho somatic, but there does seem to be something enlarging between his thighs, behind the base of his balls, at his perineum. The capsaicin injections to the prostate are many, steadfastly offered and cruel. And such do have an affect, 322 convinced that it is not his imagination which brings a sense of burning whenever his anus is stuffed. Yes, the anal insert seems to pressure the gland and stir the capsaicin... inducing his penis to stand firmer and longer. Nurse Wendy’s applications are effective... or at least imagined to be.

Oddly, though the sharp needle of the many injections brings immediate intense pain, he is consoled in knowing that the searing hotness assists with his tumescence... that he will not earn the ire of the Empress... he will avoid an undesired visit with Dr. Saunders... and that Miss Midori will be continually pleased as well.

And the acid baths... such callousness... Nurse Wendy weekly coating ‘so many feet of standing cock’... as her crassly humorous comments suggest.

‘Anyone want to stroke themselves for me?’ she mockingly inquires after each application, knowing that the seared penile flesh is untouchably raw.

Yes, Jay Blaine, if he can recall his name, has been emotionally, psychologically and physically transformed to beast number 384322. When not branked and leashed he merely has to turn his head back and peer downwards to be reminded that he is now property... of a woman. His number is permanently emblazoned into his flesh, the trauma of the many nights of being carved by the hot knife never to be forgotten... emblazoned on both his flesh and in his memory... as opposed to his former name.

He understands and accepts his role... to labor... to display his erect penis... to orally satisfy.

It is day’s end and 322 hangs from the tethering post, Midori’s whim of inducing stress never to subside. Weight perfectly apportioned amongst neck band, waist band and ankle bands, 322 quietly endures, brank obviating speech. He can feel his stiffness... pleased that he is pleasing.

Midori exits the hut, feeding canister in hand. As she steps up on the small box, 322 can feel her warmth on his overly sensitive penis. Such invigorates... and without touch. The tube is inserted, pushed to the back of the mouth to enter the throat and bring a slight choking sound... which is ignored. The fingers press... sludge slithers.

“Would you like to be worked hooded, my beast? You’ve seen the magnificent specimens who pull the carriage of the Empress. With such precise obedience, so well instilled, sight is no longer required. A privilege denied to ensure total focus on the task at hand.”

322 shakes his head as best he can. Gazing at Miss Midori’s rolling buttocks as she leads the ox cart is one of the few enjoyments... other then extensive oral servitude.

“You can be trained. I can discipline you to do anything. Blinded you’ll need to trust even more... have complete and utter faith in your handler. And in constant darkness, to feel and instantly react to the slightest jostle of the leash and brank. You should know that the Empress has her beasts deafened as well. While harnessed, the feel of her guiding hand and the desert soil beneath their feet are the only sensory input. Delicious, don’t you think? The male form completely objectified... the only obligation being to respond to a woman’s whimsy... the slight flick of the leash from the tremor of a controlling hand... and of course to offer a good firm erection... in Chessu the symbol of feminine superiority over the vanquished male.”

Midori smiles, ostensibly quite pleasantly... except the subject matter horrifies. With the canister empty she steps from the box.

“Another hour or two my beast. You’ll be stressed nicely, physically exhausted, your mental capitulation complete. Then I will have you kneel for me for a while and thereafter I think you’ll be eager to taste me.”

Yes, he will.


Brank finally removed, well into the night Miss Midori releases the neck band which has held 322 in the straining kneeling position for an eternal interval. Despite the cooling night air of the desert, a rigorously stressed 322 is drenched, his body exuding the precious fluids which he ingests so ignominiously.

Gracious hands extend. Soft fingers work the male nipples, before the extended chastity, glands of no use... now a source of rare pleasure. 322 murmurs meekly, the touch so welcomed, the fingers expertly bringing instant joy. He feels his penis waggle in celebration, the interminable stress position to finally end... the caprice of his master now to bring the impartation of brief delight. She smiles in noting the humble reaction, stiffness demanded as tribute in Chessu, knowing that though the standing organ seems to seek attention, the slightest palpation there would instead bring searing pain to Nurse Wendy’s finely altered penile flesh.

Even the weakest solution of acid can so effectively erode the inflated male will.

With the seemingly extended moments of comparative ecstasy, Miss Midori notes an ooze of prostatic fluid and knows to suspend her tantalizing efforts. Her fingers withdraw, her hands guide her beast to lie. She understands that just as she watched her mother do years before, she could indeed force her chaste beast to sublimely offer a slow and most humiliating drool of otherwise potent male essence. Yes, the nipples have become a pleasure center... the only other his impaled rectum... completing a most demeaning transformation. But with the joyful drool comes the release of hormones... and an edgy beast works best, pulls hardest, endeavors most to please. Since childhood, Midori has been imbued with this knowledge concerning male chastity... abundant sperm... abundant effort.

322 whines in disappointment as his overly sensitive penis greets the protective patch of silk thoughtfully awaiting. There come more murmurs, obsequious words of gratitude. The duress has once again overwhelmed, mentally he has succumbed to his superior and there is a strange inner glow. He knows his slow torment pleases... and that there is to be a reward for pleasing.

“You have partaken in my essence so often and for so long, my beast. Have you not realized there is missing some taste?”

As she questions, Midori unrolls a blanket before the prostrate form, slipping one edge under the chin. 322 is heartened with her preparations. It is time to feast, a well deserved helping of warm wet feminine flesh quite welcomed.

“Something that I offer your tongue and lips monthly,” she hints.

Midori sits, spreads her legs under 322's lustful gaze then shuffles her hips to offer herself. Pressing her mons to his face, she slowly lies back, raising her thighs and wrapping such about his ears to squeeze. It is an authoritative grip, engulfing his head within the smooth warmth he has revered most of the day.

In spreading herself, the sublime pinkness beckoning, 322 curses the darkness. The only illumination is the flicker of the kerosene lamp, the small flame beaming light through the open rear door of the hut. He would so much like to visually partake. But her fragrance enlightens the olfactory nerves, her warmth brings comforting radiance to a libido frustrated with the constant and thorough chastity.

It is time for cunnilingus. His tongue extends, thrusts and plummets, bringing the hushed sound of a satisfying sigh to his covered ears.

“And you may notice some plumpness... a rounding of the belly.”

The loose blouse of Miss Midori is not where her beast chooses to cast his adoring gaze. But it does come to mind that there has been no menses to cleanse in weeks too many to count.

“It is a privilege to so serve the Empress, my beast. I have been inseminated with that which her castrates so fondly extract from the Emperor. There will be a child.”

Miss Midori is expecting!

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